Chapter 7 Feathers in the Dark
Feathers in the Dark
Raisa
We don’t sleep long. The night is restless and raw, and every nerve in my body is flayed open, every muscle still quivering through aftershocks. I drift in and out, cocooned in the heat of their bodies, the thrum of their heartbeats a lullaby that never quite lets me go under.
I wake tangled between Bran and Onyx, the former snoring softly into my hair, the latter a granite wall against my back, his hand splayed over my hip like he’s afraid I might evaporate.
There’s a moment—just a moment—where I think it was all a fever dream, that I’ll wake up in the tower to the same tiny square of sky and the same cracked pitcher of water, as trapped as ever.
But the ache between my thighs, the bruises blooming up and down my skin, and the impossible warmth of being held banish the thought instantly.
We lie there for a few more heartbeats, savoring the world before it can ruin us again.
Then Shade is up, standing at the edge of the clearing, scanning the horizon. He’s still naked, his body coiled and perfect, but even now there’s an impatience to him, like he’s already fighting the next battle in his mind. He barks an order, and the others come awake in a single, practiced motion.
“We need to move,” he says, his voice low but intense.
Talon is already up, stretching and flexing every muscle like he’s daring the trees to take him on.
Sable rolls to his feet in a single, lazy motion, his eyes already razor-sharp, as if he were already awake.
Grim wakes silently, his eyes opening before the rest of his face even registers awareness.
Rune just blinks at the light, like he’s never seen a sunrise before, then grins at nothing.
Onyx is last, but when he moves, it’s with a deliberate care that makes me feel protected and treasured all at once. He pulls me up, his hands gentle as he helps me to my feet.
I can barely walk. My legs tremble, my knees threaten mutiny, and every step feels like a challenge issued to gravity itself.
Bran sees it and moves to support me, looping my arm around his shoulders. He’s already dressed, of course, his hair smoothed back and his glasses perched on his nose as if he’s headed to a council meeting and not an endless exile.
“We’ll go slow today,” he whispers, just for me. “I’ll carry you if you need it.”
“I’m not that fragile,” I say, even though we both know I am.
“Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple as he helps me into borrowed clothes that somehow fit a little too right. “You’re ours now. We take care of our own.”
Shade leads us into the trees, setting a pace that’s both brutal and efficient.
The forest here is denser than anywhere I’ve ever been—branches interlocking overhead, the sunlight shredding before it can touch the ground.
The moss grows thick as a mattress, but the rocks underneath it are sharp. Every root is a tripwire.
I last maybe an hour before I’m limping.
Bran stops us at a stream to tend my feet. He sits me on a fallen log, his hands warm as he unlaces my borrowed boots. “Sorry,” he says, wincing at the blisters. “We should have wrapped them first.”
“I’m not used to…” I gesture at the forest, at the world, at everything.
He gives me a sympathetic look, then splashes my feet with cold water and tears strips from his own shirt to bandage the rawest spots. His touch is tender, and I can’t help the way I lean into him.
Across the stream, Shade paces, his eyes fixed on some invisible threat in the woods.
Talon is downstream, filling bags with water, but every time I look up, he’s watching me.
Sable lounges in a sunbeam, whittling at a stick with a knife that looks like it was made for blood.
Grim sits in the crook of a tree, silent and intent, sharpening a blade and never once looking away from me.
Rune picks wild berries, popping them into his mouth and making faces at the sour ones, then pocketing the best for later.
Onyx is closest, crouched beside Bran, his big hands steady as he checks my bandages. “You’ll be fine,” he rumbles, almost kindly. “We’ll slow down for you.”
“I don’t want to slow you down,” I protest, but he just shakes his head.
“You’re not a burden,” he says. “You’re the reason we’re here.”
The words settle in my chest, warm and bright. I want to ask why they came for me and why they care, but I don’t. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the answer.
We press on, deeper and deeper, until the world outside the forest feels like little more than a rumor. The sun barely filters through, and when it does, it’s weak and thin, more a memory than a tangible thing.
We walk for hours, stopping only for water or to let me catch my breath.
One or two of the men vanish into the woods around us at random intervals, only to reappear a while later, before others wander off.
They never explain where they’re going or what they’re doing.
There’s no discussion of it at all, in fact, as if it’s practiced, normal behavior.
But there’s a grim silence to the way they go that leaves me watching them a little more intently, as if I can pluck their secrets out of the air.
A few times, I think I see ravens ghosting through the branches above us, but before my eyes can pick them out, they vanish into shadow, and I’m not sure if they were there or if it was a simple trick of the light.
“What are you looking for, Princess?” Rune asks late in the day, his eyes on me while I scan the trees.
Shade and Grim are missing, having disappeared into the trees ahead a half hour ago.
“Ravens.” I peek over at him. “They used to visit me in the gardens.”
“Did they?” The way he says it is too casual, too uninterested, and I find myself wondering, yet again, if these seven are the very birds who have watched over me for as long as I can remember.
But I don’t ask. Not yet.
Eventually, Shade and Grim reappear, and we press on.
When the land dips into a hollow, Shade finally motions us to halt. “We’ll camp here tonight,” he says. “There’s good cover, and the stream will hide our scent.”
Sable grins, dropping his pack with theatrical relief. “I thought you were trying to kill us all, brother.”
Shade just growls. “Not until tomorrow.”
“Brother?” I ask, glancing between them.
“Adopted,” Shade says, not quite meeting my gaze.
“Are all of you brothers?”
“We are,” Bran confirms, sliding his arm around my waist to lead me to a fallen log. “We were taken in by the same couple.”
“What happened to them?”
“The same thing that always happens in places like this,” Grim says, his tone as dark as his expression.
I’m not sure what that means, and I don’t ask. I simply file the information away for later, another little mystery in a long line of them.
The men move with easy efficiency, each claiming a task.
Sable and Talon scout the perimeter, moving in silent tandem, more animal than man.
Shade starts a fire with two stones and a handful of dry moss.
Bran helps Onyx build a shelter, weaving branches together with practiced hands.
Grim sharpens his blade, his eyes never leaving the trees.
Rune circles the camp, marking the boundaries with lines of ash and strange sigils I don’t recognize.
A few times, it seems as if he glows blue in the dim light, but when I look again, his skin is as pale as ever, and I’m sure I just imagined it.
I watch them, fascinated by the way they move, the way they belong to each other and to the wild. There’s a rhythm here, a harmony that makes me feel like I’m a discordant note.
I sit by the fire, the black feather from the tower clutched in my fist. It’s bent and frayed at the edges, but I can’t let it go.
Bran comes to sit beside me, offering a chunk of dried meat and a handful of berries. “You should eat,” he says.
I nibble at the food, but mostly I watch the men. “How long have you been…brothers?”
He considers. “Longer than you’ve been alive.”
I flinch at the possibility that they’re far older than I first thought, but Bran just smiles, soft and sad. “The couple who took us in did so when we were just boys, little more than infants. We were cast out again a few years later, when our adopted mother died.”
I glance at the others, at the way Shade and Grim orbit each other, always at odds but never apart. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. They were cast out by one meant to love them. I was trapped by the one meant to protect me.
“What happens if my father catches us?” I can’t help but ask.
Bran’s jaw tightens. “He won’t,” he says, his tone all grim confidence, as if he can bend the world to his will simply by saying it.
The fire crackles, sending up sparks that float like fireflies. The night grows colder, the trees crowding in as if they want to listen. I feel watched, but not just by the men. The whole forest has eyes.
After dinner, the men gather around the fire.
Shade sits with his back to the flame, scanning the woods.
Grim is next to him, his face a study in controlled violence.
Talon and Sable wrestle on the ground, each trying to pin the other, their laughter edged with threat.
Onyx and Rune flank me, their presence solid and reassuring.
I curl my toes into the moss, the pain a reminder that I’m real, that this is all happening. I close my eyes, listening to the night.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls, the sound little more than an echo. A chorus of howls rise up in response, the sound swelling and then fading away.
The men stiffen, exchanging glances.
“Hunters,” Shade says. “King’s men.”
My heart stutters with fear.
Grim bares his teeth. “Let them come.”
“They’re nowhere close, but we’ll move before dawn,” Shade says, then turns to me. “You should sleep.”
I don’t argue. My body aches in ways I didn’t know were possible.
I crawl into the makeshift shelter, the blanket Onyx gave me warm and scratchy. Bran tucks it around me, his fingers lingering at my jaw.